No Heroes Amongst Thieves
by Roux
Summary: Will once said that there were no heroes amongst thieves. Well, famous last words, Will, for Jack is no ordinary hero, and Caro is no ordinary thief. Come one, come all; the Fountain of Youth is found!
1. Moonrise in New Orleans

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**_Disclaimer:_**

Pirates of the Caribbean, Jack Sparrow, and other characters mentioned in this story are © by Disney and other entities. This is just a fan story. All characters not associated with Disney or any other big-name, stuffed-shirt companies, are © by the Author. Story is used only with permission from me, Patch, _le_ author. :)

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**_Author's Note:_**

Just decided to replace the author's note cause it's waaaay too long. Just wanted to say that if you have any questions or nitpickiness about the story, just e-mail me at the address given on my bio page. 

And to all you people who are quite precise in most aspects of the world and are neurotic about historical accuracy, know that, in this day and age, there is something called _Poetic License_. And if yer hung up about that, just remember this one thing:

It's **_my_** story and **_not_** **_yours_**, so nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!

Toodle-Pip and All That Rot!

Roux

~*~

**No Heroes Amongst Thieves**

_A Novel_

By: Roux

~*~

**Chapter One:**

Moonrise in New Orleans 

The sun slowly crept below the stretching horizon, such as a child would nestle beneath a blanket, giving way to incomprehensible night. The shining colors spread across the blue palate of sky, painting it a multitude of yellows and oranges and reds. Sunsets like this were a common occurrence, yet each was beautiful and much changed from the scene the day before. Today the fading light lit the waters of the gulf with an almost holy glow, making it near impossible to distinguish where the ocean ended and where the sky began. Not only was each sunset as new and different as dew on a rose in morning, people's responses differed as well. Whereas some saw the day's death as an end, as another life cut short in it's beauteous prime, others saw it as a new beginning, as a start to a life that was known only to those that walked the streets after dusk and before dawn. A life where money could buy anything that was desired: liquor, jewels, pleasurable company. Freedom. Yes, in those times, freedom could be bought and sold, traded for lives that seemed of no value except to the ones that lived them. Many were prisoners. And more yet were masters. 

Caroline watched the day's end from her perch on the rooftops, a strange ache throbbing in her heart. It was lovely. To her it felt as if Heaven had suddenly decided to take up residence right in the Crescent City. Liquid gold splashed over her cropped head of coffee curls and down her cinnamon face, as if she could palm it and stuff her pockets to the brim with the plentiful sun-treasure. The humming light was pleasant on her skin, like soft flames licking her still form, warming the slow chill that had slowly been seeping through her veins these last few years. For a time, though it was considerably short, Caro was content.

Caro's hands found the pockets of her scarlet velveteen coat and she leaned against the chimney. Her brown eyes searched the horizon, but for what, she didn't know. Caro felt as if she was always searching, always searching, but never finding. Finding…what? Ah, yes. The other unsolved mystery. 

_Well_, she thought, _if that isn't a predicament, then I don't know what is._

Her hand found the stone in her pocket, and she rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger, creating warm friction upon its surface. It was a habit that she'd been drawn into the last few years; an unconscious motion that Caro practiced when she felt pensive and was sure nobody was looking. A _traiteur_ had explained the stone to her; it's meaning, it's powers. 

'_It is a Moonstone,'_ she had said, a thoughtful tone to her voice._ ' It is de traveler's talisman, used for protection on one's journeys and against the perils found on de way. It also brings insight to de owner and can soothe de mind and spirit. Dis stone will bring you good fortune, chile, so keep it safe. Dere may be a time when dis stone help you in your quests.'_

Well, it hadn't helped her, really. Not yet. Caro kept it, though, just in case. One could never be too sure…besides, it was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen: although it was not perfectly round, the stone's face was smooth and usually cool to the touch. In it were a multitude of colors, creating the opalescent glow that bounced off the seemingly white surface, a mystery in of itself. Sometimes Caro removed it from its special place in her pocket, just to look at it. The Moonstone was one of her most prized possessions, the others simply being a collapsible staff she had bartered off the docks, and a small, pocketsize book of Shakespeare's sonnets.

Caro started as a loud commotion suddenly broke out in the streets below. A loud, raucous voice could be heard screaming obscenities in French, followed by a protesting drawl, and accompanied by a loud metallic banging, as if the local blacksmith had suddenly gone on the rampage. Caro grinned. Suppertime in this particular section of New Orleans was always quite the ordeal, and Caro had forever thought of it as a bit of a spectator sport, rather like tennis, or perhaps roulette. She carefully made her way over to the edge of the roof and dangled her booted feet over the edge, hands on knees, leaning forward with blatant interest.

A large, red-faced woman, dressed in the garb of a cook, mobcap, apron and all, was brandishing a rather large ladle like a cutlass, shaking it threateningly in the face of a teenaged boy, who fended off the angry blows with a large cooking pan. The boy sputtered incoherently, obviously more than flustered at the furious onslaught, and attempted time and time again to rise to his feet, only to be beaten back with the oversized kitchen tool. The cook raised the ladle up over her head, appearing perhaps even more menacing than before, as if preparing herself for the exertion that resulted from the sound beating she was about to give the ungrateful whelp. Her blow fell, yet she was caught off guard as the ladle was suddenly snatched from her meaty hand, and her arm swung away with the powerful momentum that had built up, the result of an un-ladylike temper. Her mouth dropped open in astonishment, and her piggy eyes widened as much as was possible.

Before her stood a girl, a _fille_ who was grinning from ear to ear, apparently amused by the entire situation. She was taller than the cook, but that wasn't saying much, for though the cook was overly rotund, and obviously well fed, what she lacked in height she made up for in weight. The girl, on the other hand, was slim, but not because she was a woman, which usually meant an appetite the size of a bird's. She was broad shouldered, and rather big-boned, but that could not hide the gauntness in her face, the remnants of starvation. 

The girl wagged the ladle warningly, as if scolding a mischievous child.

"Now, now, is dat really necessary?"

The cook spluttered, her mouth forming silent words, a motion that provoked the girl even further, spurred on by the curious crowd that had gathered.

"I know, I know, my presence 'as rendered you speechless. My apologies, Mademoiselle, I forgot myself. It is not often that Caro appears in public, for de effect dat it 'as on de locals, mais, though it is flatterin', it is not always pleasing to de law enforcers." All this was interspersed by a few well-placed, flamboyant bows, with much twirling of the hands and flashes of an apologetic smile. 

The cook didn't move, befuddled beyond belief. Where had this girl come from? The street had been void of any life almost moments before, but this girl, this Caro, had flown in from nowhere. 

Flown? 

The cook examined her adversary, who was still talking animatedly, continuing the flittering and the fluttering of her hands, obviously trying to make a point by the look of the obscenely large gestures she was using. The scarlet coat she wore appeared a bit ragged, signs that it had definitely seen better days, but the way the girl moved caused the coat to resemble strange, red wings, like some oversized cardinal on opium.

"So you see, Mademoiselle, it really is compulsory dat you let me replace dis pauvre es'cuse of a soup-spoon, it is not fit for de likes of your cooking, so I hear."

Caro looked on as the cook blinked stupidly, having obviously not listened to a solitary word she had said. She stole a glance at the boy, who had scrambled to his feet and was trying to sneak away as inconspicuously as possible, causing Caro to smirk inwardly. He wasn't being very inconspicuous at all; in fact, it was difficult _not_ to notice him. He was trying much too hard.

"All right, den…Caro will just be going, neh?" She returned her attentions back to the cook, saw her swing, and ducked, allowing the offending object to pass over her head.

Marie, for that was the cook's name, had apparently overcome her speechlessness and now wielded a fire iron, having obtained it from her kitchen stove. She swung again and only just missed Caro's ear.

Caro's amusement had grown by the minute. She knew that servants in the local households were overworked, but this was just ridiculous! Finally she became a bit fed up with the cook's rather obnoxious behavior and sidestepped the old sausage, leaving the woman to overbalance and fall to the cobblestones in a daze.

"Ah! Now they fall to their knees at my feet! Mademoiselle, please, I am not deserving!" And with that, Caro sheathed the ladle in her belt and sped off down the street, not pausing to look back, for her ears told her all she needed to know.

Such language!

Caro laughed, unfolded her staff, and used it to vault up onto a vacant balcony; she then collapsed it and scaled the wall with the greatest of ease, reaching the rooftops in almost no time at all. Caro jumped from roof to roof, keeping an eye on the streets below, searching each face, this time, knowing what she was looking for. She located her quarry and climbed back down, using windows as footholds. Caro then jumped to the ground in one fluid movement, quietly enough so that even the most skittish alley cat did not bat an eye.

Caro raced out into the street, blending with the crowd, stalking her prey. She crept up behind the unsuspecting figure and kicked at his heel, tripping him.

He tumbled to the ground with an oath, and landed in a messy heap, having disturbed a trash bin. He looked up through a tangle of wood shavings and charcoal hair and into the grinning face of his assailant.

"Caro!"

She gestured as if to say 'well, you deserved it', and held out a hand. He accepted it, and Caro pulled him to his feet, only to abandon the limb so that she could swipe at the aberrant dirt and sawdust that had gathered all too noticeably on his black vest.

"Y'know, Carlos, de wooing of older femmes is not your strongest point, non? Dey're gonna kill you, mon ami! Stick to da sweet virgins and nuns, eh? Ya might have more luck!"

Carlos swiped at his friend with his free hand, the other being safely nestled in his pocket.

"What do you know, amiga, about the wooing of mujeres?"

Caro scoffed.

"You forget, Bra, dat Caro, she be a femme as well. A'course she know how to woo! Dough she prefer les hommes!" She laughed and performed a little hop-skip. Carlos rolled his eyes.

"Usted está loco, muchacha!"

"Well, Carlos, it take one to know one, hein?" Caro threw a jovial arm around Carlos' shoulder and tweaked his ear. "Mais, you love me anyway, podna!"

*~*~*

The two strolled down the street at a leisurely pace, lazily stepping to the side to make way for passing carriages, tossing vivacious insults at the overly dressed drivers. Carlos informed Caro of his disastrous attempts to become a household servant, ears coincidentally deaf to the snickering abuse that his friend tossed at him. 

They made their way to the docks; where everyday a new ship seemed to arrive at port, hulls stuffed with all sorts of treasures from places like Africa and the East Indies. Life at the docks was always plentiful and usually colorful by nature. Monkeys and birds with beautiful plumage were paraded; crates full of fruits such as oranges and bananas were carted off the large merchant vessels, ready to sell at market. And that which was most interesting were the plentiful sailors that walked the streets during their berth. 

Despite the increasing darkness, both Caro and Carlos knew the area well, having come to the busy harbor many a time. Caro ran over to a particularly busy stretch of pier, on which loading and unloading cargo was happening faster than one could say 'petty theft'. Caro swiped a papaya, and then another, and hid them in her 'modified' pockets.

Carlos watched Caro work from his hiding place behind some bulky freight, slight unease bubbling up in his stomach. He knew what Caro was, he'd always known, but that didn't mean he had to be completely comfortable with it. He'd even helped her with a few jobs; not the big ones that Caro seemed to always take on, but little things. A purse here, a book there. Caro liked books. But she could not always afford them, so—

"Here ya go!" A soft, round papaya unexpectedly appeared in his face, sweet and tangy scent wafting into his nostrils. Suddenly he didn't care. Carlos reached up and grabbed it; he took a bite, letting the saccharine juice dribble down his chin. After a few more bites and some drawn out chewing, he swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Caro watched as he ate and chuckled.

"Boy, when was de last time you et? Easter?"

Carlos ignored her and continued eating.

Caro chuckled and took a bite from her own papaya. She cocked an ear and listened to snatches of conversation; news from outside always came with travelers, and Caro always used it as an opportunity to find out who had the most wealth stashed up. One never knew when the owner needed to be…relieved of it. Nobody could own that much treasure, be it gold or other such things, and actually be expected to use it _all_. So, every once in a while (that meaning often), Caro would go, and 'borrow' some of it. True, she wouldn't give it back, but it's not like they missed it, was it?

Caro watched as an older sailor trundled by, deep in conversation with his companion. The aging man looked as if he should have been sitting on the veranda of a house, telling stories of the sea to his grandchildren, fashioning their memories. The corners of Caro's eyes crinkled slightly; _she_ had such memories. But it was so long ago…

The man's companion, however, was one whose appearance seemed to demand to be noticed: atop his head sat an old, weather-beaten tricorn hat, covering a full mane of shoulder-length hair, twisted and braided and decorated to messy perfection; a brown jacket rather like Caro's own trailed down to mid-thigh, half concealing the man's blue britches; and brown, knee-high boots clip-clopped against the wooden dock. But the most interesting element of the man was perhaps his swooping gait.

He walked as if he were in a leisurely hurry; each stride was widely spaced apart, almost like a stork's, but much heavier. His hips were entrancing; they swung from side to side with each step, engaging his torso in the same, almost deliberate movement, his hands dancing spiritedly through the air, as if to illustrate his words.

Caro arched an eyebrow.

Where had _he_ come from?

She looked at the remaining flesh on her papaya longingly, and then back at the grandfather and his alluringly interesting comrade. Twice more she looked from papaya to man. Finally, she made a decision, hastily dropping the fruit and grabbing Carlos by the collar all in one movement, causing him to drop his own meal in surprise.

"Wha—?"

"Shush, no questions, yeuhrm?"

Carlos almost managed to choke out a retort, but Caro just tugged harder, cutting off his air supply. He gagged as she released it, causing him to fall to his knees, gulping in air.

"Madre del dios, era eso realmente necesario?"

There was no reply.

Carlos looked up, only to find an empty space where Caro had stood. He jumped to his feet for the third time that day and swirled around, searching for the curly-haired sprite that was his friend.

A flash of red caught his eye.

Carlos followed it inland, dodging passerby at an almost alarming speed, knocking, by accident, quite a few to the ground. He in turn shouted a polite apology over his shoulder and raced on, striving to keep the red blur in his sight. Carlos ran so fast he almost flew. He also nearly crashed into a wall.

_Well_, he thought, _I suppose I overestimated that one a bit._

A hand reached out and clamped itself over Carlos' mouth. He gave a muffled yell, and struggled as he was pulled into the shadows.

*~*~*


	2. Le Sable et Passoir

~*~

**No Heroes Amongst Thieves**

_A Novel _

By: Roux 

~*~

**Chapter Two:**

Le Sable et Passoir 

Carlos was shoved up against a wall, screaming against the hand that covered his mouth. He thrashed ineffectively against the iron grip that held him in place, kicking at his assaulter, who in turn tightened their hold on his face with an audible snort.

"Took you long enough, peeshwank!" Caro's face loomed into Carlos' own, appearing only mildly annoyed. Carlos sighed with relief, and then huffed indignantly, pushing with both hands at the chest of his amiga. Much to his chagrin, she batted her eyes at him and gave him a honeyed smile.

"Well, Carlos. I didn' know ya cared!"

Carlos' eyes widened. He had just touched her br— 

…Actually it was best not to think about it. 

Sometimes the fact that Caro was a gi— woman—slipped his mind. She acted too much like one's chum; an acquaintance that you would never introduce to your family. Though her body was most definitely not that of a man's, her supple, curv—

Carlos decided to abandon 'coherent thought' for 'apathy' and turned on his heel, gliding into the dim twilit night, his pointed nose held high in the piquant night air. Caro did not hesitate to laugh when His Majesty tripped on an uneven slice of street, and stepped over him, making sure to 'accidentally' trod upon His Royal Backside.

*~*~*

Le Sable et Passoir was most definitely not the best of the taverns in New Orleans. Nor was it the most vile. But what mattered most is that the authority left it alone. Of course, the only reason for that being was that the bar was actually below ground, out of the unsuspecting townsperson's eye, but business could be conducted betweens any two persons who knew of the place, and neither would be harassed, threatened, or beaten in any way or form. 

Inside the bar. 

That was the general rule. 

Everyone who knew _of_ it knew to _obey_ it, and to _respect_ it, be they sailor, murderer, or thief, else they be hunted down by the tavern's owner: one Monsieur Marchand, former seaman and trapper. 

He was gruff, but good-hearted; a fair man. But if his temper flared, all in his path were in danger of being burned, and badly. So the wise stayed on the old man's good side, whilst quietly snickering at the foolish who were trampled time and time again into the dust. 

The only group that the aging man was even particularly decent to was the prostitutes. He allowed them to scour his tavern for customers, acting as a rather curious boss; a father, really, for Marchand fed 'Les Filles', as he called them, when they had no food; loaned them money went rents were due and no payment was to be had; gave them jobs as barmaids to rake in extra money to support young families.

Rumor had it that Marchand had once fathered a daughter, but had gone away to sea in her early years. Rumor had it he returned to France years later, only to find his wife dead, and his daughter gone, apparently working the streets in Paris. Rumors led to Paris, always to Paris, winding down the Road of Fate to a House of Ill Repute, a road that Marchand unwittingly discovered himself to be following. 

For many weeks he had searched the slums of Paris, refusing offers from all-too-willing women, feeling sick at the idea that one might have been his _petite_ _fille_. 

Rumors.

That was all Marchand searched for.

Rumor led Marchand to the docks of Marseilles once more. The word on the street had been that many of the 'criminals' of Paris were to be sent to the Americas, particularly the French settlements, in order to rid France of its 'lowlifes'.

It was a rumor that made up Marchand's own mind for him, and he sailed the ocean for the last time, in pursuit of the shiploads of criminals and prostitutes that France had injudiciously sent to the New World, hoping perhaps that one day, he might find his beloved daughter. Every morning, he prayed for forgiveness; every night, he prayed that his child might just walk down those twenty-seven steps to the hostelry that he now called home.

And so he befriended the Ladies of the Evening, and welcomed them to his tavern.

_Captain_ Jack Sparrow was _most_ thankful for this. 

Rum in one hand, girl on the other, he drank his way into the night, recalling some of his most famous experiences to his attentive audience. It was very lucky for Jack indeed that this town, New Orleans, had not yet heard of Captain Jack Sparrow. He hadn't mentioned anything to do with the Black Pearl, though, seeing as how last time his wish for narcissistic acknowledgement went awry.

The room had gone deadly quiet; the wench on his lap had gasped and recoiled in superstitious fear. Rum had spilt from mugs to the ground, running in little rivers about the feet of now-silent customers. Jack did not want to repeat that mistake. Again. All that rum, crying onto the floor in tiny trickles, and Jack never got the chance to console it…Besides, Jack had had no company of the female sort for the whole time he was in port, if you didn't count Ana-Maria. 

Which he didn't.

He most definitely did _not_ want to repeat _any_ aspect of that nasty, _nasty_ night.

Jack looked down at the girl to his left, who was clinging to his arm as if she would never let go. His smirk glittered in the candlelight and caught the attention of the overly primped and painted whore, making her smile all the wider. 

Jack grinned again, more to himself than anyone else, and continued on with his story.

*~*~*

Caro stooped, as most did, as she walked over the threshold of Le Sable et Passoir, avoiding the low beam. Carlos was not as smart. His head hit the beam with a loud resounding crack, and he fell to the wooden floor in a daze. The tavern-goers all cringed at the sound, all having been that clumsy at least once, and some even rubbed the spot on their heads where the beam had knocked some sense into them. 

Caro glanced at Carlos, who was still on the floor nursing his wounded head, and rolled her eyes. Men. As clumsy as they were stupid.

Caro left Carlos to his injury and made her way through the throngs of people over to the bar. She unsheathed the ladle that was yet in her belt, and rapped it loudly on the counter.

"Luc," she hollered, "Where are y'?" She continued to bang the counter with her ladle, grinning as the customers about her began to mumble irately about shrill tarts with oversized serving spoons and dumping said items into the bay. "Luc! Your customers are getting angry! Help! Police! Rape! Murder! Police! Help!"

"Ah, be quiet, you overgrown cat, quiet your incessant yowling!" A gnarled hand grabbed the ladle and attempted to wrench it from Caro's hand. Caro twisted and turned with the arm that was connected to the hand, preventing it from stealing her new sword. She then jerked the handle to left and then to the right in one quick motion, and tricked the hand into releasing the dipper; Caro whooped her victory and gave the head that was ruler of the arm and hand a good sound rap. Luc scowled and massaged the growing lump on his head.

"Marchand, when will you learn that you do not touch what is not yours?"

Luc Marchand grinned.

"Go to bed! If I know Caro, and I know her well, mind you, that ladle is not even hers!"

Caro's face dropped comically and her bottom lip stuck itself out.

"Aw, Luc, do you accuse me of stealing this fine piece of silverware?"

"I do."

"Ah, well, you do know Caro then." She wrapped her arms around Luc in a bear hug and whispered softly into his ear. "It is good to see you again, Nonc." Marchand enveloped Caro in a hug of his own.

"'Lo there, Sugarbee. How's my best fille?"

"Eh…same's always, Luc. How's business?"

"Same's always, Caro." Caro grinned again and rapped the counter with her ladle once more.

"If business is really dat horrible, then I best buy a drink, eh? I'll have a pint, Luc, if you please." Caro fished about in her pockets for money, which she soon found and plopped it on the counter. Luc shook his head and grabbed a pewter mug, and filled it to the rim.

"Shouldn't be drinking, Caro. You are a lady."

Caro took a swig of her ale and shook her head.

"Don't see no ladies 'round here, Luc. With de exception of Carlos, of course. And besides, beer puts 'air on your chest." Caro's eyes twinkled as she beat her chest softly with a fist. She took another sip and set the mug down upon the counter, listening to the dull _'clunk'_ the pewter made against the wood. "Luc?"

The old bartender looked up from one of the endless beakers he had to clean.

"Yes?"

"Did a rather strange man come in, perhaps a few minutes past?"

Marchand scoffed.

"Well, if you want to be specific, then…"

"I was serious! A very strange looking man he is, wit' many baubles an' trinkets in 'is 'air. 'E walks like de most graceful drunk, and without being so, if I have guessed correctly. An older homme was wit' 'im. Like an O'Pa, he was, but sailor-like."

"Gibbs? Do you mean Joshamee Gibbs?"

Caro's face went blank.

"You lost me bag daer, mon ami…"

Luc sighed. Young people…

"A portly sailor is Joshamee Gibbs, with long muttonchops down to his chin. Gray-haired and eyes like a sea at storm."

"I would not know of his eyes, for I looked only at his backside…"

"Caro!"

"Now, now, it ain't like dat, yeurhm? Only well-ta-do rich girls go after da ugly ol' men, so—"

"He is sitting over there." Luc pointed to a table more-or-less in the middle of the room. There was the grandfather that Marchand had described, surrounded by a smattering of men and women of all ages and appearances, and all had their eyes fixed upon one figure—

"That's him!"

"Who's 'him'?" Carlos staggered up in time to see Caro fly off in the direction of the crowded table; he sat down dazedly at the bar and looked confusedly at Marchand. "What is going on, Luc? Who is 'him'?"

"Search me."

"I'd rather not, vie—"

"Be quiet, Carlos."

"All right."

*~*~*

"And so, they made me their chief."

The girl clinging to Jack's arm managed to clap adoringly, reach for her beer, and remain latched on to his person all at one time; a feat that she accomplished without a hitch, which rather impressed Jack. Multitasking! He could do that! In bed, mind, but not that it mattered. 

Yet.

*~*~*

Caro watched as the girl performed, knowing full well her game. The corners of Caro's mouth turned up in a small, knowing smile; her quarry had chosen Tempeste, who most definitely lived up to her name if things did not go her way, and her way alone. Which apparently seemed to happen more often than not. That fellow was in for a ride he shouldn't soon forget, _if_ he ever managed to be separated from the leech long enough so that he had _time_ to forget, that is.

But…

She would not interfere. Not unless she thought things were getting out of hand. So, until that time came, Caro decided to pull up a chair and observe.

*~*~*

Jack had noticed her as soon as she sat down, but he continued with his story as if nothing had happened, though he kept an eye on her. It was not often he saw a girl such as this, even if he was in the pirating business. And—

Ooh.

What was that?

Jack slightly stiffened as the slender hand trailed along his crotch, but he did not falter in his story; he would rather kill two birds with one stone and get everything he wanted in one go. 

Ooh. There it was again.

Caro watched as a slight, almost unnoticeable tic appeared in the man's eye, and rolled her own pair. _It starts._

She got up from out of her chair and returned to the bar, where Carlos and Luc still were, each deep in thought; Carlos was idly picking at a gash in the wood, and Luc was rubbing at a spotless glass, oblivious to the fact that it was already clean. Caro waved a hand in front of Carlos' blank face.

"Hello?"

"He's after me!" This statement came out as a shrill, incredulous squeak, and made Caro jump at least a foot.

"Carlos…?"

"Oh. Hello, Caro." He noticed her stare. "What?"

"Who's after you?"

Carlos blushed a rosy pink and looked down at his shoes, continuing to pick at the jagged gash, mumbling to himself. Caro snapped her fingers before his nose and ordered him to sit up. He complied and straightened out, refusing to look Caro in the eye. Sheepish little…

"That's all right. You lucky it doesn't matter now, else you'd be strung up by yo' heels for what you done ta dat poor fille. What was her name again? Mademoiselle Charlotte? Daughter of N'Awlins' wealt'iest plantation owner?" Carlos stuttered and blushed an even deeper shade of red, causing Caro to throw her head back and laugh. "Ah, l'amour! Ya need any _help_, Bra? Caro, she has lot's of _help_ ta give. _Help_ is one o' da nicest t'ings in da world…'specially in the area of love! _Help_ is good, yes?"

She grinned as she slapped him on the back in a jovial sort of way; it was then Carlos knew…

"All right. What do you want?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"No," he drawled, "what makes you say that?"

Caro raised an eyebrow. Was Carlos, the ever ignorant, actually being sarcastic? Took him long enough…

"No reason…Mais, could you do me a favor?" She paused. "What am I saying?" She pointed an accusatory finger at him and continued. "You owe me anyway!"

Now Carlos stared at Caro dead in the face.

"What are you jabbering on about? I owe you what? I paid you that five—" Caro shook her head. 

"No, no, not money. Caro saved you, boy, from dat hulk of a woman…You know, da one that was tryin' ta brain ya wit' this ladle?" She waved the spoon nonchalantly and continued. "So, yes, ya _do_ owe me. Quite a bit, mind, for that was quite a bit o' woman, if ya ask me…" She cocked her head expectantly and folded her arms, her fingers tapping against her sleeves impatiently.

Carlos sighed, and decided that it wasn't worth fighting for, so…

"All right. What is it you want me to do?"

Caro's grin morphed from teasing to mischievous; she leaned in a bit closer and said in a conniving whisper:

"All right, den. Knew you'd agree in d'end. Here's what ya gotta do…"

*~*~*

Jack was in his proverbial element; his audience was hanging on to his every word, hands cupping chins or clasped together upon the table, or doing…other things…Yes, they were mostly drunk, but, then again, so was Jack, so what did it matter?

The whore, who had abandoned her administrations to his nether areas, had pressed herself up against Jack's torso, her lips brushing against his ear, tickling it with her sweet and sour breath, warm with some hidden zeal. Jack's hand rested upon her hip, the other occasionally punctuating his words with a wave or a flutter or lifting the rum-mug to his lips for a drink. He liked this. Nobody had slapped him (yet), nobody had run away from him (yet), and nobody had accused him of attempting to attack, kidnap, and otherwise completely endanger the lives of respectable gentlemen's daughters (yet). Life was good. He had rum, a comfortable seat, a portable home, a considerate audience, and what appeared to be a good woman. What more could a man want?

He glanced up again as a pounding echoed from the stairwell, not quite sure what it was. He heard a muffled noise, like a crying scream silenced by a hand that ordered quiet. The whore blearily peeked around the room at the sound, lifting her head from the cradle that was Jack's neck and shoulder.

"What ees goink on?"

Jack looked down at the woman and shrugged one shoulder. "No idea, love. 'S best ta ignore it, leastways. Just got inta port. Don't want any trouble tonight." The whore smiled seductively, spurred on by the handsome man whose lap she occupied and the intake of ale she sustained.

"Zen I theenk zat you 'ave made a mistake in your choice of company, monsieur. I am more trouble then you could possibly imagine." She touched her red lips to his ear as she said this and let her tongue snake out and flick at his skin, her words shivering through his canal to his brain, down his spine and to the tips of Jack's fingers and toes. Jack narrowed his heated eyes.

"Perhaps I have, then, m'dear. Care to see if what you said is true? That you're not a liar?" His long fingers played with a golden lock of hair that strayed from her bun. She pulled back and positioned her full mouth against his, her legs rubbing against the cloth that separated his skin from her own.

"Eef what I said makes me a liar, zen I would 'ate to see what an honest person looks like, mon chere." Once again, all the blood in his body seemed to drain to Jack's groin.

However, Jack wasn't able to add any more to this most interesting conversation; the pounding noise started again, louder this time, and was difficult to ignore. A loud _boom!_ made the bottles on the tables rattle, and a glass of bourbon fell to the floor, splintering into a thousand tiny, shining diamonds, leaving the wood to drink up the liquor. This was punctuated by a breathless yell; Jack's hand immediately flew to his pistol out of instinct, and made to stand up, searching for another exit, when a red blur shot past him and over to the stairwell.

Caro froze as she saw a brutish-looking man grab at a frightened girl's shoulders and shake her like a rag doll. Her first reaction was to get the girl as far away from this monster as soon as was possible, if not the other way around. Caro whipped out her staff and unfolded it; she poked at the man's spine with its butt, hoping to grab his attention.

"Monsieur? We are sorry, but we must ask you to move, you are blocking the door. It's a fire hazard, y'know."

The beast appeared not to have heard her, and shook the girl again. Caro strained to look over the man's large shoulder, and when she did, she caught a glimpse of a young woman, no older than seventeen, wide-eyed, and obviously scared to death. Her violet dress was hanging in messy rips, having been torn during her struggle to escape, and her hands were clenched tightly to her sides, almost as if she was afraid that her assaulter would bite them off. _He prob'ly could and would, _Caro thought grimly. Her grip tightened on her staff, and she poked the man again, this time, with much more force, causing him to exhale in a grunt of pain. 

"Go 'way! 'M busy!" His voice was harsh and cold sounding. Caro didn't like it. She didn't like it one bit.

"Let go of the fille, hybride, or you will recieve a lump on your 'ead the size of a mango." Caro stepped back as the man swung around violently, unknowingly releasing the girl in his blind anger. She ran back into the tavern and into the arms of Luc, who hugged her and stroked her hair soothingly. The man growled.

"Be quiet you stupid woman! This is no business of yours!" His voice was heavily accented; _Portuguese_, Caro thought.

"I should t'ink it is. Cosette is as a sister to me, and it doesn't sit well wit' Caro that one should hurt her family. So _play nice_." The last two words were accompanied by a pair of sharp pokes in the gut from her staff. She caught a whiff of the sailor, and it was then that she knew he was drunk, but Caro searched for his gaze, and when she found it, she held it defiantly and positioned herself in a fighting stance, like a tiger ready to pounce.

Nothing happened for a moment, and Caro nearly turned to leave, but the large Portuguese hurdled forward and knocked Caro down the last three steps and onto the floor. Caro was on her feet again almost as soon as she hit the ground, missing the large foot, which stamped at where her head had been. She lashed out with her staff and came into contact with the side of his head with a loud cracking noise. His skin split, and blood gushed out from the wound, dripping onto the clean wooden floor.

"Now look what you done," scolded Caro, "you made a mess! Dis floor is allus so nice 'n tidy, but then you go and ruin it. For shame." She jabbed at the meaty hand that was currently tending to his head wound and was satisfied with the man's response: he yelped. "Yeah, tha's right, whine fo' the dog that you are! You is not to be treating any woman da way you treat Cosette!"

The man mumbled incoherently. Caro cupped a hand and held it to her ear.

"What was dat? Didn't quite hear ya."

The man didn't answer. He instead lunged and wrapped his large hands around Caro's throat and lifted her off the ground. Her eyes bugged out at the sensation, and her world nearly went black, but she dug her fingernails into the flesh of her hand, using the flashing pain as a buoy to keep awake. Caro grit her teeth and fought to stay conscious; her hands reached up to her neck and pulled at the gargantuan pair she found there, but to no avail.

Wracking her brain for some plan, she blanked out of reality for a moment, and from inside the bar Luc gasped and Carlos' mouth fell open in horror, for Caro's hands went limp at her sides and her feet dangled listlessly, her staff clattering to the floor. 

Jack watched the series of events unfold and was silent. The girl on his arm had her hand over her mouth, and was shaking slightly; Jack could sense it; he patted her arm reassuringly but kept his kohl-lined eyes focused on the young woman who was slowly losing the fight for her life. He felt a tap on his shoulder. He glanced up, and saw Gibbs standing there, a look of alarm on his aging face.

"Should we not do summat, Cap'n?" His hands were wringing themselves over and over again, something that Gibbs didn't normally do. Jack suddenly remembered one night, a long time before, when Gibbs had mentioned something…or someone…

*~*~*

_It was a clear, lukewarm winter night in the Caribbean, and the bow of the _Driftwood_ dipped in and out of the water in a slow, entrancing fashion. The deck of the ship was dimly lit with a few lanterns so that the pirates could see, for tonight there was no moon. She had died the night before, and was to be reborn in the darkness of the following day. A man leaned against the railing on port-bow, staring off into oblivion._

_Jack watched him from his hiding place in the awning, noticing his thoughtful melancholy and sad disposition. Joshamee Gibbs…a man who Jack considered his friend and confidant. In fact, Gibbs was Jack's _only_ friend and confidant, the first one since…since Bootstrap. _

_Jack winced. Christ. It still hurt to think about it, and that happened, what? Four years ago? Five? _

_Jack shook his head. That didn't matter. Time didn't matter. It still didn't change the fact that the _Pearl_ was no longer swaying under his feet. The _Black Pearl_ was still his, She would always be his, despite the knowledge that Barbossa currently 'captained' her. Bloody bastard…_

_Jack cleared his head of the memory for a moment and shimmied down the foremast. His bare feet pit-patted softly against the deck as he walked over to Gibbs, the smooth wood caressing his soles like a woman's hands. Gibbs didn't acknowledge Jack's presence as he came to lean on the rail next to him. They both noiselessly accepted the night, each comfortable with the other's silence, listening to the gentle waves rippling against the wood of the ship and to the ruffle of the sails as a light nighttime breeze stroked them, their slow, deep breaths blowing through the men's ears, through their noses, and into their lungs, making their own breathing seem superficial. Now with the cool, crisp night air in his system, Gibbs found his voice and spoke._

_"Ye ever love a woman, Jack?"_

_Jack twirled his moustache between his thumb and forefinger vaguely as he gave his answer._

_"You weren't th' only one as warned me against them time and time again, my good man."_

_"'Twasn't what I meant. I meant it literally. Ye ever love a woman?"_

_"Gibbs, ya love one woman, ye love 'em all. I should know tha' especially!." Jack nearly started to laugh, but stopped at the look on Joshamee's face. Oh, this was getting uncomfortable! He reached out a hand and tentatively patted the older man's shoulder, unsure of what to do. "Sorry, mate. Y'all right, there?"_

_Gibbs rubbed at his eye with a grubby finger angrily. "No," he said, "I ain't 'all right'. Not this time."_

Jesus Christ in a handbag…Now I have to ask 'im what's wrong_, thought Jack. _All right, then, here goes nothin'…

_"Care ta talk about it wiv yer ould friend Jack? He'll listen, I'm right certain." Jack turned around and leaned against the railing again, this time, facing Gibbs, who looked up. He wore a look of mild interest on his tanned face, mingled with…what was that? Concern? Was it for him, for was it for Jack's own sake?_

_"I loved a woman once, Jack. With all me 'eart."_

_"What 'appened to 'er? She die?"_

_Gibbs' face clouded._

_"Nah. Left her fer the sea, I did. She's a wanton mistress, and a jealous 'un at that.". He unscrewed the little canteen about his neck and took a deep draught, re-corked it, and let it fall back to his chest limply. "Loved Nora with all me 'eart, had a child, and then I left 'er. Some husband I was, eh?"_

_Jack ignored that last comment._

_"Ye 'ad a kid? Boy or girl?" He almost smiled himself as Gibbs' face shone with fatherly pride._

_"A beau'iful 'lil gurl it was. A twinkle in 'er eye and a curl in 'er golden 'air. Was the spittin' image of 'er mother, Anne was."_

_"Have you seen either 'o them since?"_

_Gibbs' face fell back into a frown._

_"Nah. Ne'er did. Too ashamed 'n embarrassed was I." He paused. "Today would've been Annie's twelfth birthday. Was going to send 'er summat, but I backed out. Afraid she wouldn't like it." He fished about in his pocket for something, and it came out holding a little wooden top, about the size of Jack's palm, that had been whittled from a piece of strong, smooth sea-wood. Wrapped around it was a length of twine that was knotted a one end with a few colorful glass beads. Gibbs set it on the floor and jerked at the twine, sending the top whizzing across the deck._

_Both Jack and Gibbs watched it until the top slowed and made that 'whirrwhirrwhirr' noise that all tops do when they've lost their steam, until finally it stopped and lolled about on the wood, rolling back and forth with the motion of the ship. A few minutes later, Jack broke the silence._

_"She'd've liked it, Josh. She'd've liked it."_

_He walked away, leaving Gibbs deep in thought once more, staring at the twine in his hand._

*~*~*

"Cap'n?"

Jack jerked back to 'now'. Well? Should he?

He stroked his goatee. How could he benefit from all this?

He didn't have the chance to decide, for the girl seemed to waken again.

Caro suddenly returned to the land of the living, nearly blue in the face and extremely exhausted. Her eyes lit up and searched the face of her attacker, who stared dumbly back. Grinning, she swung her feet upwards with all the strength she could muster, and kicked out at the man's chest; his grip loosened, but he didn't yet let go. Caro strained as she attempted to 'walk' up the man's chest, her feet sliding towards the man's throat. The tip of her boot touched the man's jugular, and Caro's teeth bared in a snarl as she strained again to release herself from the man's deadly grip.

Perhaps it was because she was regaining strength, or perhaps it was because she had scared the man so, but Caro would never know how she managed to press both feet against his throat, locking them in a 'head-to-head' position.

The Portuguese's face became redder and redder as Caro applied more pressure with her toes, aiming for his fat gullet, until finally he roared and released Caro, and fell to the floor with a great deal of noise.

Caro didn't even have the chance to take a breath, for she grabbed her Bo and aimed it deftly at the man's throat.

"Bang. You dead."

**(AN)** Sorry for the wait. Had a lot going on. Do you still like it? More Jack in the next chapter…and the plot will soon show itself. Right now I'm just introducing our cast of characters….And by the way, that flash back was to have been mostly in italics…my upload was weird. I must have uploaded it a few different times, but it always came out the same…so…Sorry!

Thank you for all your encouragement and kind reviews!

Roux (and yes, I did change my penname again! What can I say? I love pseudonyms!) 


	3. A Victory Drink

**(AN)** Hi, all! Um…Just wanted to say that this chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but I don't really think you'd care. You guys are just happy for an update. Am I right? 

~*~

**No Heroes Amongst Thieves**

_A Novel _

By: Roux

~*~

**Chapter Three:**

_A Victory Drink; or When It Rains, It Pours _

The room was silent, save for the light groans the Portuguese made as he lay there on the floor with Caro still standing over him, chest heaving, eyes wild, her staff still digging into his jugular, and she pressed until the man's bulbous eyes rolled back into his head. Relieved, she let her staff fall to the ground and she beside it, coughing in fits at last as she sucked in great quantities of air, her hands clutching at her throat as if the touch would soothe the painful throbbing that she seemed to feel pulsing through her every vein.

The patrons, suddenly aware of the lack of entertainment, slowly began to talk amongst themselves once more, but now there seemed to be more chatter than the typical everyday conversation. Of course, it wasn't every day a fight broke out in Luc Marchand's tavern, and it wasn't every day that a woman came back to life at the feet of Death himself, and still win the brawl. ' A woman!' they said, 'Mon dieu!' or 'What is this world coming to, that a wench could bring down a bloke the size 'o that brute, eh?' or 'Bah, I could take _'er_.'

Jack regarded Gibbs for a moment, thinking. How could he benefit from all this, really? He wasn't on any sort of quest as of late, and the Navy wasn't currently on his tail, so he didn't need to weasel his way out of anything…he had simply docked that night for a long-deserved holiday. Being a pirate could get very tiring, what with all the plundering and pillaging and causing general mayhem…Besides, the crew had been getting a bit stir crazy; even the best and most devoted sailor longed for the companionship of the common man (or woman) every once in a great while; liked having solid ground under foot for a short time, just to know it was there.

He winked at Gibbs in a friendly fashion. "You all right, there?"

Gibbs looked worn out: drunk, old, and tired. The elderly man shook his head, and then said with an atypical firmness that he was done for the day and was going back to the ship, making Jack feel rather put out. All right, maybe not _put out_, but he _was_ perhaps _slightly_ disappointed.

"I've had enough excitement fer one night, Cap'n." Gibbs sighed as he set his flagon down on the table, its contents more than half full. He got up from his chair and stretched, letting out a slight 'oof' as his spine cracked. Jack leaned back in his own seat and patted the girl's hip softly, as if he were making up his mind.

"Right, then. You go on back and get some rest. I'll stay 'ere and keep all your…admirers"—he winked at the trio of girls draped over Gibbs, who giggled—"company, since yer abandonin' them in such an ungentlemanly manner!" His own girl squirmed in her place on his knee as he tightened his grip on her waist; if it was from discomfort or pleasure, or both, Jack didn't know. Though he hoped it was that last one. He loved to make people—girls, mainly—pleasurably uncomfortable. It was a weird little quirk he had practiced over the years, but what else could a jaded pirate captain without a ship have been expected to do? Knit?

The Whore (he still didn't know her name) reached back and buried her pearly hands in his thick head of hair, massaging gently.

Gibbs watched as Jack closed his eyes in contentment, rather like a purring cat rubbing against one's legs, begging to be stroked. The thought made Gibbs choke back a chuckle; he swiftly turned around to conceal his sudden jollity and began to walk as briskly as he could (he was still mighty drunk, if you please) to the stairwell, calling a farewell over his shoulder.

"Tommora, then, Jack."_ I would tell ye ta enjoy yerself, but it seems you have that down pat_, he added mentally, not wanting to irritate his friend and commander with stupid remarks. He paused at the threshold, his head bent, and he took a swig of liquor from his little canteen. He began tramping up the stairs; back to veracity; back to the Black Pearl; and out into a world that didn't seem to care, thinking about the girl in the tavern; of his Nora; of the sea; and of his Annie.

*~*~*

As Gibbs disappeared up the stairs, Jack remained in his seat, quiet, thinking, relishing in the absolutely lovely massage he was getting. Truth be told, he was a bit anxious for the older man; Gibbs wasn't one to turn down a drink, let alone a _second_ one. A ninth, or a tenth, maybe, but never a secondth. 

Secondth?

Jack peered into the swill swishing around in his mug. What was in this stuff? Secondth…that was…different. It wasn't often that Jack Sparrow scared even himself, but this was cutting it pretty close…

Jack set his mug back down on the table.

No harm in not taking any chances, was there?

Jack's head snapped up as he remembered what he had been thinking about before Gibbs had decided to turn pansy and leave… The girl. What was he going to do? He had seen her skill with a weapon, and obviously she had a quick eye and a sharp mind. Perhaps she would be an asset to his crew…who knew? But there was always the chance that the crew would carp about having another woman on board. And besides, he thought with a chuckle, Ana-Maria almost certainly wouldn't like the fact that another female was on board…she had always been one for histrionics.

Jack's eyebrows twitched slightly as he contemplated his next move. With an exhalation of breath, he sat up, having made up his mind, and patted The Whore's hip once more. She stopped massaging his head and looked down at him curiously, recognizing the action as a decisive one.

"Where are you—" She watched him get up and questioned him haltingly in syrupy tones about where he was going, a bit miffed at his apparent disinterest in her services, ones that he had been all too engrossed with not a minute before. He bent down to eye level with her and winked, flashing his scintillating smile.

"Be right back, love."

*~*~*

Caro attempted to get up, searching the wall with her fingers for handholds, for she felt as if she couldn't stand on her own. She wobbled on her feet for a moment, but awkwardly steadied herself; as her world stopped swaying, Caro let out a pleased sigh. Her sigh soon turned to a shocked gasp, for all at once the earth was spinning much too fast, and she reeled as her vision blacked out for a second time. 

"That was quite the stunt ye pulled, love."

Caro swung around at the voice, still wrapped up in her own little world, eyes wild and mouth snarling.

Jack stepped back, his hands up in the air as a sign of truce. "Whoa there, girl. Just tryin' ta lend a hand is all I'm doin'." The girl's eyes dilated and she seemed to snap out of her trance, slumping to the floor again in a bit of a daze. Shaking her head to clear it of the fog that was creeping in, she voiced the question that she had been all too prepared to ask prior to her tussle .

"And who might you be, monsieur?" She paused and coughed again, waiting patiently for a reply. Jack grinned.

"So sorry, there, love. Nearly forgot meself there for a moment." He swept off his hat and bowed a deep bow. "Captain Jack Sparrow at your service. And—"he placed his hat back on his head smartly—"whom do I 'ave the pleasure of addressing, milady?" He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. Much to his amusement, she snorted.

"Name's Caro, you charlatan you! Sorry about that bag daer…Caro, she wasn't 'erself."

His grin took on a teasing edge. "Was she now? Who was that, then, if it weren't you, Miss Caroline?"

"Ah, Captain Finch, wouldn't you like to know, eh?"

Finch?

Jack frowned.

"Finch?" he quipped, "that's a new 'un… 'least you remembered the 'Captain' part." He noticed her inquisitive face. "Why does that matter? Most people forget that me name's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, love."

"That so, Captain Finch? And why would that be?" The corners of her mouth pulled upwards. Jack inwardly groaned. Not _another_ smart-arse!

"It's Captain _Sparrow_, not 'Finch'. **_Sparrow_**."

It was Caro's turn to hold up her hands in defense.

"All right, all right! I get it! Enough with da Finch! Now 'elp me up, you." She dangled her hands up in front of her, beaming like the cat that ate the cream. Jack found himself grinning again as he took hold of her hands and pulled Caro to her feet. He bent down as she dusted herself off and retrieved her staff; he handed it to her, and she accepted it graciously.

"Merci."

"Welcome."

Caro opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by Luc lumbering over and embracing her tightly.

"Caro! You are all right! Fille stupide! What were you thinking?" He squeezed tighter and Jack could clearly hear Caro wheeze.

"Pardon me fer sayin' so, gov', but she only just started breathing again. Wouldn't it be best if we left 'er to it?"

Luc's eyes widened considerably and he released Caro, his hands flitting over her skin, looking for injury.

"My apologies, Caro!" he cried, "Did I hurt you? Oh, I am so sorry, cherie!"

"It is all right Luc, now stop your babying! I am fine! Just got my feadahs a bit ruffled up is all! Stop it!" she snapped as Luc began to prod and poke at her ribcage. "He tried to strangle me, not pound me! **_Luc!_**"

Finally, he paused. "What?"

"_Merci!_"—up went her hands—"mon dieu!"

Luc frowned.

"I was just trying to help, Caro. Do not be such an unthankful little—"

Caro interrupted.

"I am thankful Luc, but I am a grown woman; I can take care of myself. All right?" She patted Luc's shoulder. "All right?" she said again, this time more softly. Luc seemed to believe this, and stood away, looking rather sheepish. Caro turned, and Jack snorted as he saw her roll her eyes. Caro jumped as she remembered his presence, and made out to introduce him.

"Luc, this here is Captain Jack Swallow. Captain Swallow, Luc Marchand. There, now, we are all acquainted!" She flounced off to go check up on Cosette, who appeared to have recovered a bit and was now sitting behind the bar with a cup of tea splashed with brandy.

Jack's mouth dropped open disbelievingly; he lifted a finger to right this whole name mess, and—

Luc grabbed hold of it and pumped his hand up and down enthusiastically. "The pleasure is all mine, Capitaine Swallow! Strange name…Would you care for a drink?"

Jack paused.

Perhaps that whole name thing didn't quite matter right now…

He swept away after Luc.

"I might take you up on that drink, sir, a sailor needs to keep up his strength; rescuing damsels in distress makes a man thirst for…" He trailed off. 

In front of him stood the whore, looking rather testy. Actually, murderous was probably more the word for it, as her hands were balled into angry little fists at her sides, hunching her shoulders, and her face was as stormy and contorted as the sky during the worst typhoon.

"And where do you theenk you are going, monsieur?" She took a step closer, and Jack felt himself being backed into a corner by a woman for the second time in less than ten minutes, and he wasn't at all happy about it…

"Look, love, you're beautiful, you really are, and there isn't anything I'd like to do more than to, erm, make use of your talents," Jack's moustache twitched exasperatedly, "but I've other 'portent business to attend to, really I do." He tipped his hat and pivoted on his heel to run off in the other direction, but she grabbed hold of his coattails and tugged sharply, nearly causing Jack to overbalance uncharacteristically. He cringed as he righted himself, and he turned to face his former…charge.

"Calm down now, m'dear, that was uncalled fo—"

Jack stopped as a hand clamped onto his left shoulder, and again, his hand flew to his pistol, ready to shoot whatever and whenever necessary. Before he could draw, however, the hand twisted around and the figure came out from behind Jack to face the whore.

Jack's grip on his weapon loosened. 

The whore's jaw dropped. 

There Caro stood, the top buttons of her shirt undone, the cloth rolled down over her shoulders to show Caro's soft cinnamon skin and to flaunt her slightly-less-than-ample cleavage. Jack also noticed that she had traded her boots and breeches for a pair of dainty shoes and a full, scarlet skirt, and her face was delicately painted with red rouge and dark eye-paint, unlike Tempeste's heavily layered greasepaint. His mind focused as the whore spoke bitingly.

"Jack? Who is this?"

Caro smiled dangerously, her tone sharp.

"What are you doing, Tempeste? You tryin' ta steal my work from me?"

"What work?" The younger woman all but growled.

"'E's mine tonight, chere. Popped 'im off in da back room; he owes me ten."

Tempeste abandoned her tirade for a moment and gaped.

"Ten?"

Caro turned and ran her hands up Jack's chest, and then further upwards to play with his braided goatee. Jack was confused, as well as thirsty, and very much hot and bothered, but Caro winked at him, and suddenly he understood. He nodded slightly and wrapped an arm around Caro's shoulders as she twirled seductively to face forward once more, stroking his other hand across her smooth, bare collarbone.

"Yeah. I owe her love."

Caro's voice was mockingly serious. "Oui. He owes me, love." She winked hugely at Tempeste, who in turn lunged and attempted to gouge Caro's eyes out with her nails; Caro grabbed her wrists and twisted them away from her, fighting against the all-but-legendary madness that Tempeste was prone to.

"Don't hiss at me you cat! Sheathe your claws, do not show them to me," Caro ordered as she shoved Tempeste back, who was lead away by a few of Luc's clerks that spoke to her in soothing tones, wanting, with good reason, to calm her down. Just as they began to climb the wooden staircase to return to the outside world, Tempeste managed to break free of her captor's grip and dash back down the stairs. She stopped right in front of Caro and pointed a dirty, slender forefinger in her passive face.

"No one shall relieve me of my job 'till I say so, or so I die! You'll pay for zis, you coonass!"

Caro inquiringly pointed a finger at herself. "Moi? Not dis Cajun, chere!" She moved her hand to flutter above her head in a merry farewell. "Goodbye, ya damnable Frog!"

"You worthless bitch! Why would he want _you_ when he could have had _me_? 'E was mine! _Mine_! **_MINE!_**"

She screamed out those last words as the clerks escorted her out of the tavern. Caro's hand dropped down to her side as she poked Jack's arm idly.

"You lucky, homme."

"Oh? And why is that?" He looked down and watched Caro's done-up face merrily watch his. She poked his nose this time and spoke again, using the hem of her skirt to wipe away the grease on her face.

"Because once Tempeste wraps her legs 'round you she don't never let go." Caro paused in her cleaning. "A bit possessive, that girl, eh?"

Jack shook his head, his beads and trinkets jingling with the swinging motion. "I've seen worse."

"Really, now?"

"Of course. Would I lie to ya?"

"Dat remains to be seen, Bra."

"Oh? And what is that supposed ta mean?"

Caro nodded her head in the direction of the pub's entrance as if to prove a point.

"What? I didn't catch that."

Caro sighed.

"You lied to her. Why wouldn't you lie to me?"

"Point taken."

There was a moment of silence between them, the hubbub of the bar filling in the quiet holes in the conversation. 

"I t'ink I need a beer." 

Oh. Glorious beer…

"You still owe me that rum, ya know. Could drink that."

Caro's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You'd share?"

Jack considered this for a moment, and then shook his head.

"Nah. You'd have ta fend for yerself, there. It's every man—or woman—fer 'im—no, her—oh, shite—**_them_**selves , if ya get my meanin'. "

"Bastard."

"Pirate," Jack hummed as he rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"Well?" Caro stepped in front of him and leaned forward so that she was nose to nose with the good Captain, who, surprised, nearly stumbled back. That was his move!

"Well what?" snipped Jack, irritated. He was thirsty, dammit! The saucy wench would do good to get out of his way so that he—

"Are ya gonna 'ave your victory drink? Or shall I drink it for you? It would be no trouble, honestly…" Her eyes twinkled playfully.

Ah.

"Now," said a pleased Jack, "yer speakin' me language." 


	4. No Bones About It

~*~

**No Heroes Amongst Thieves**

A Novel 

By: Roux

~*~

Chapter Four: 

No Bones About It

He rubbed his hands together and followed Caro as she meandered her way back to the bar, casually picking up forgotten mugs and hanging them by their handles on her fingers. His eyes narrowed a bit, however, as he saw her step into the shadows, moving out of the path of a smashed sailor mumbling in Chinese; she touched the side of her head and her brow knit together, and her lips moved almost voicelessly, but Jack thought he had caught a 'Shut up.' His expression became calculating, almost accusatory as the cogs in his brain wheeled around. There had been nobody there, and nobody had spoken to the girl. What was going on?

Jack's eyes scanned the room suspiciously. What was going on? he asked himself again. Ambush? Trap? He didn't want to take any chances, so he placed a hand loosely on his belt near his sword and picked his way around tables after Caro, seeing as she had started moving again. She turned and grinned at him over her shoulder and he grinned back, even more suspicious than before, but he followed her anyway and sat down beside Carlos, who looked up at Jack and then over at Caro, eyebrows raised. She shrugged and jerked a thumb at the captain, who sat up, eyebrows drawn and looking offended.

"Yet anudder one 'a Tempeste's conquests."

Carlos' mouth formed an 'o' and he smirked into his mug. Jack frowned.

"What's that supposed t'mean?"

Carlos screwed up his face. "What's what supposed to mean, señor?"

"The—" Jack puckered his own mouth into an 'o', mimicking Carlos' earlier face of understanding.

"Nada! It simply means that you signed your own death warrant, that's all, mi amigo."

"And you know this because…?" Jack's hands twirled.

"It means dat whenever somebody, man or woman, gets involved wit' Tempeste, dey usually end up changing their names or beggin' fo' mercy. It also means, m'sieu, that Carlos once tried to, how do you English say? Take 'er for a roll in the hay?" She smirked. "Dat girl, she live up to her name if t'ings don' go 'er way."

"And you…?" Again Jack's hands twirled, this time in Carlos' general direction.

"He laid her an' paid 'er, minus de payin'," offered Caro. She wiggled her fingers at Carlos who had originally opened his mouth to lie but was now using it to curse Caro in every possible Spanish way.

"Ah." Jack snorted. "Bad lad."

"Indeed," said Caro. "Couldn't sit on a horse for ages. Couldn't sit at all, for that matter," she added as an afterthought, tapping her chin with a finger.

"Did it hurt?" asked Jack curiously, glancing at Carlos' crotch for a fraction of a second.

"Did what hurt?" retorted Carlos sourly.

Jack made a pair of scissors with his fore and middle fingers. "Snip snip?"

Carlos' answer was indignant. 

"'Course not! I'm not French! Spain births Men and they stay that way!"

"And you would know that because?" asked Caro suggestively. When she did not get an answer, she crowed. "What!? And you didn't invite me to the fais do-do? Ya mean I missed all de fun? Hybride." She sniffed imperiously and turned away from Carlos to study Jack, whose dark eyebrows lifted in question as she proceeded to stare him down. She blinked and slid to her feet, cat-like, and got up and walked away. 

Jack looked at Carlos, who shrugged.

Caro returned with the pretty girl who had been attacked by the Portuguese. She still wore her ruined violet dress, but her becalmed demeanor and warm manner indicated she had recovered from her encounter. She leaned over and whispered something in Caro's ear, and then watched Caro smile slightly and nod her head.

"Jack," said Caro, moving forward, "this is Cosette. Cosette, Jacques." Caro made a slight bow and went to pester Luc for some food, eyeing a sandy-haired man as she passed.

"Enchanté, monsieur," smiled Cosette as Jack greeted her with a kiss on each cheek, as was French fashion; Jack could feel the stickiness of dried tears on her smooth skin, and couldn't help but feel a tinge of pity for the girl. For that's what she was, to put it simply: a _girl_. Seen and been through so much for one so young. Wasn't fair. Nothing was. Ah, well, might as well give her some good experiences for her to remember to block out the bad ones. 

He smiled at her, a real smile this time, brought her into his empty lap and said, "The pleasure's all mine, love." 

*~*~*

Caro stood in the back room, back to the door, shoulders hunched. On her face was a look crossed between pain and hate, and suddenly her hands snapped up to clutch her head.

"Go away," she hissed, "go away!"

Laughing. All she heard was laughing.

Caro nearly dropped to the ground in agony, but resolutely stood her ground and attempted to block the familiar sound out of her head. She managed to reduce the loud laughter to a muted hum, but yet it remained.

Composure regained, Caro strolled resolutely out of the back room to get herself stinking drunk. Too much was coming back. Too much… 

*~*~* 

"You," scoffed Caro drunkenly, "a priest?"

"Wot? Ye don't believe me?" Jack swung his mug about crossly, beer sloshing over the sides and onto the wooden table. He stopped and stared at it confusedly. "How'd tha' get there?"

"I don't trust you's far as I can t'row ya, Sparrow!" Caro poked his chest twice with her forefinger, examined it with a true curiosity, and then dipped it in the spilled beer and sucked it, savoring the bitterly sweet taste. "Dunno…. still tastes good…" She paused. 

"Where did Carlos go? Hope he isn't running into any more Tempestes; we'd get bits o' him sent t'us in a matchbox." Her tone was slightly worried, and the sandy-haired sailor, Tom, on whose lap she was sitting, kissed her neck soothingly. She turned her head to catch his lips and Jack's eyebrows rose as he tipped Caro's chin up and kissed her. 

Jack felt a slight twinge between his legs as he saw a flash of slick, pink tongue exchanged between the two, and he squeezed Cosette's hips instinctively. She smiled softly and reached down, squeezing back.

"I still can not believe that nobody would notice you weren't a priest…" Caro pulled away with a smack of lips and continued as if nothing had happened. "You're the exact opposite of what a holy man should look like…you look like…a…_an_…_un_-holy man…" She bobbed her head concretely and rewarded her sharp wit with another sip of ale. 

"Aye," Jack agreed, "but I was in a cloak and 'ood, wasn't I? Th' good Brother Jonathan, that's me!"

"And people wonder why da Church ain't in power any mo'. Dey stupid, is what. Dey don't know t' difference between a prim, paunchy friar and a smug, oversexed pirate…bah." She shook her head and stopped, the motion making her dizzy. It also could have been because the back of her head had careened into Tom's nose, but Caro was much too drunk to really get into the details, and so she continued as said body part was assuaged. "I mean, dese are the people dat are 'choosing'"—Jack could hear the quotation marks—" wheddah or not we're goin' ta get our 'sorry' souls saved…Well, 'cept fo' me. I know I'm goin' ta Hell, but I'm takin' a few down wit' me! I'll bring bread and cheese for a toast; might as well make use of the, uh, scorching climate, no?" Here she laughed a loud, amused laugh, and Jack couldn't help but chuckle with her. Her whole outlook on life seemed very much like his own: fuck it all and live life to the fullest. Who gave a damn what others think? 

Jack wasn't sure if he wanted to admit it, being the enigmatic man that he was and that he wanted people to _believe_ he was, but…. he rather liked the girl. In a totally platonic sort of fashion, naturally, physicality need not be involved. Not that Sparrow would ever turn a girl down, of course. Tempeste was one of few exceptions, reason being she was rather fanatical, and Jack already had enough trouble being the Legendary Captain Jack Sparrow; he needn't have a wench who'd rat on him as soon as look at him. If that girl had known who he really was, Jack would have been in a shiteload of trouble; knee deep in the proverbial privy-hole that, at some time in their lives, every man finds himself mired in.

"Me," slurred Jack, shite-hole forgotten for the time being, "I'm never goin' t'Hell. Because," he continued, ignoring Caro's attempt to make a comment, "I'm goin' ter live forever!" He toasted the notion with his ale sloppily, splashing more onto the floor than into his mouth; he grew a bit frustrated with this fact and attempted to elaborate on the whole 'immortality' subject. "Problem is, izzat I dunno quite 'ow ta do this…don' never want ta see living dead pirates that don't die ever 'gain."

"Wha?" Caro's tone was probing, and Jack didn't like it, his guard raising its hackles defensively

"Well—", he started, and was prepared to beat quite willingly about the bush, but a high-pitched, accented voice cut through his intentions as a hot knife through butter.

"Is it immortality you seek, boy? Ah, that was what He sought, too. Whether He got it, however…. Eu não sei. But the Water He _did_ drink."

There was a pause.

"Hey, there, I t'ink he's drunker den I am...."

"No! If it is eternal life that you seek, then listen to me, ye daft sonuvabitch!"

Caro looked as if she wanted to laugh, but swallowed her smile down and nestled into her sailor's embrace.

Jack rested his chin on Cosette's slender shoulder, forehead wrinkled and curiosity piqued. "What're ye talkin' about, old man?"

The old man merely appraised Jack in that way that all the elderly examine the young, dropped a small doeskin pouch on the table, and walked away. Jack stared at the pouch solemnly as Caro watched the old man go. "Well?"

Caro's attention reverted back to Jack. "Well what?"

"What's it do?" He prodded it, half expecting it to prod back.

Caro looked at the pouch. "May I?" she said, pointing at it and looking at Sparrow with a drunken glaze over her eyes. He nodded his assent and Tom's grip on her lessened as she leant forward and snatched up the little bag.

Caro immediately recognized it and 'ahhh-ed'. She handed the bag to Jack and ordered him to dump its contents. When he questioned her, she replied with a "just do it, homme!" Jack scowled and proceeded to loosen the drawstrings on the worn satchel and empty whatever it was onto the table.

A gathering of assorted bones fell lightly to the wooden tabletop. Jack was mildly annoyed. "There I was, all interested, and all we get are dead animal bits. Brilliant. What are you doing?"

"Shh. Wait a moment." Caro studied the bones and moved them about a bit until she was satisfied. Finally, after a few more minutes, she looked up. "D'ya wanna know what all dis be about?"

"All _what_?"

"Immortality. De bones. All o' it. Getting' ta live f'revah. Y'wanna know?"

Jack didn't hesitate in his answer. "'Course I do! That ole raisin gave it to me! 'Course I want ta know! Besides, The Immortal Captain Jack Sparrow has a bit of a ring to it, if I do say so meself."

"Fine. Meet me here tomorrow. Around supper. I'll take you."

"Take me where?"

The sandy-haired sailor stood up with a slightly giddy Caro in his arms. "I'll take you," laughed Caro. "Boyo, will I take you." And she kissed Tom as he strode up the stairwell and out into the Crescent City.

Jack scowled and Cosette shifted to face him and massage his shoulders.

"Has she always been like that?" slurred Jack.

"Ever since I've known her Jacques, which is a while."

"Poor you, then."

Cosette laughed. "It's not all that bad. She likes you."

"Really? Does it show?" His tone was dripping with sarcasm.

"Ma chere, if she hadn't of liked you, you'd probably be with Tempeste, and for the rest of your life."

Jack considered this.

"Is she really that bad? Honestly?" asked Jack after a moment's pause. Cosette inclined her head meaningfully at a table at the far side of the room. At it hovered a man, muttering to himself and downing the remnants of abandoned ales.

"That was Señor Vasquez."

"Was?"

"Oui. Was." Cosette didn't elaborate, but Jack got the general idea.

"So," he drawled, "fancy that, 'ow do we English say?"— he mimicked Caro's accent—"a roll in de hay?" He caressed Cosette's face suggestively, but gently, and was pleased with her more than willing response, which was to throw her arms about his neck and kiss him, tasting the rum on his lips and in his mouth. He, too, as Tom had done, took his Woman Du Jour into his arms and proceeded to escort her to his room, accepting her touches and kisses with uninhibited enthusiasm, stopping here and there to press the dear girl into a wall or against the door merely so that they could touch each other.

As Jack fell back into his room, he grinned as Cosette sucked his neck in response to the hands at her chest.

"I'll take that as a most definite yes."

**(AN)** Yay! Fourth chapter! Sorry for the wait, but between gazillions of projects, loads of homework, going on vacation and having no computer access, writer's block, Jack's being mad at me (but not enough to get him out of my bed) and being sick, I just haven't had time to, well, _write_. I might actually post the fifth chapter tonight or tomorrow, but we'll see how it goes.

Thanks for all the encouragement guys! More reviews, if you please! I've never had so many before. Sniff sniff sniff…I feel so…LOVED!!!

Roux


	5. Of Histories and Histrionics

Thanks so much, everybody, for your advice and encouragement! 'Tis greatly appreciated, so 'tis. 

Here the story shall truly begin, though not until the end. Apologies for how long this is all taking, but I have a feeling that this story is going to be much more character-driven than I had expected. Jack!Muse is ever persistent, and keeps asking me whether he's going to get some, and I have a feeling I better get my arse moving to keep Jack satisfied… 

Note, though, that I've revised this.  I wasn't happy with the way it had first turned out, and Toranoko pointed out to me that Jack was quite OOC.  I KNEW there was something wrong...I guess it was just one of those things where you don't see the forest for the trees...I should ask her to be my beta...Lord knows I need it...someone else to ounce off of, you know?  Anyway...

~*~

**No Heroes Amongst Thieves**

_A Novel _

By: Roux 

~*~

**Chapter Five:**

_Of Histories and Histrionics _

Something warm flickered across Caro's eyelid and she reached up to brush it away, but the warmth continued to quiver across her face. She mumbled and turned to nestle in the crook of the arm thrown across her naked torso, and the warm spot on Caro's face moved to her back, and she discerned it to be a fleck of honey morning sunlight. Caro adjusted herself so that her head was pillowed on the lovely chest beside her, her hand rising and falling with Tom's constant breathing. She watched him sleep for what was maybe a moment, maybe forever.

Caro caressed his face. Tom's breath hitched slightly, and she snatched her hand away, fearing that she had woken this angel from slumber. She sat there, hand to her collarbone, not daring to move. Caro didn't want to wake him. She didn't, she really didn't. 

Somewhere a mockingbird chirped. A warm breeze wafted in through the curtained window from off the gulf, it's curling tendrils of air brushing across Tom's face. His sandy-brown hair fluttered slightly.

She didn't want to wake him, she didn't she didn't she didn't—

She did.

Caro wanted to rouse him, to hug him to her body, to kiss him, to love him. She wanted to hear him gasp and beg for mercy as his hips arched off the bed, straining with desire, and feel his sweet, hard body move over and inside her own, again and again. She wanted him to moan her name as he had done last night, but Caro wanted words of love and promise as well, whispered desperately into her ear as the throes of ecstasy overcame them both, and St. Elmo's Fire licked her eyelids; but what she wanted most of all, perhaps, was the loving embrace that came afterwards, and the comfort of being entwined in a pair of strong arms that encircle you, and only you, in that everlasting touch that holds one in that lovely place between sleep and awake; where dreams are not yet forgotten, and are real.

_Idiot,_ sneered The Voice, _he could never love you. You're just another notch in his bedpost._

_How do you know he isn't a notch in mine?_ Caro shot back.

_Fool,_ came the reply, _he'll cut you whip you kill you _

_Tezez-vous!_

She didn't answer with words but Her laugh echoed through Caro's ears, loud and manic, continuing as Caro slipped from the bed and dressed. By the time the Cajun pulled her slippers on, she was fighting to keep herself from smashing her head into the wall. The empty, cold darkness, along with its muteness, seemed more appealing as each second passed. Caro leaned over Tom, brushing her lips across the top of his head.

_That's right, chienne. Kiss him goodbye; you'll never see his sorry ass again. Just like all the others, right?_

Caro's face burned as her anger bubbled.

_That's right; get angry!_

Shut up.

Tom sighed softly and tossed his arm over his face, revealing a blue-green tattoo. He looked so content; so handsome, lying there.

Caro hated him for it.

She longed to take that pistol he had stowed beneath his pillow and squeeze the trigger, watching his blood soak the creamy linen sheets like a red fog, trickling down his forehead from a black pit smoking betwixt his eyes.

_Why don't you do it?_ prompted The Voice. _Go ahead, chienne, reach under the bastard's head and pump his brains full of lead. It's your call. Just a flick of the wrist and a pull of_ _a finger, and he's gone. Just like that. You'd never have to see that ugly cow again._

"I'd nevah have seen 'im again anyway."

All She did was laugh.

Caro jerked her hand back yet another time. It had been creeping under the bed linens, searching…

And The Voice came back with full force. Caro clutched her head and tried to force It to stop—

_Laughinglaughinglaughing shut up shutupshutupshutupshutup ha ha ha blast him kill him you damn bitch shutupshutupshutup stop stop Stop STOP_

"**_STOP_**!"

_Oh, all right,_ She decided, pausing as if to listen to Tom's sleep-induced movements. _Quit your bellyaching. I'll stop. For now._

Caro grit her teeth and dug her nails into the bedpost, leaving crescent moon indentations in the soft wood.

_For now._

*~*~*

"You seen Caro?"

Carlos ambled into Le Sable et Passoir, watching Luc make lunch at the stove behind the bar. He swung over the countertop and nipped a bit of ham from the skillet; it burned his fingers and he juggled and blew upon the sizzling meat to cool it, and Carlos yelped as a stray spatter of frying fat exploded in his face.

"Serves you right, boy. You did not ask." Luc went back his pan. "And no, I haven't. Thought she was with you."

Carlos sucked a scalded finger and shook his head.

"Last I saw her she was with that hombre; Tim, was it? No," he continued reflectively, "Tom. That was it."

"That sailor? Blond; brown eyes? Rather lanky?"

"That's him."

Luc paused in his cooking. "She wouldn't," he said despairingly. "She daren't."

"Yes she would," said Carlos matter-of-factly, "it's Caro we're talking about here, señor, not an angel. She's not innocent any more, Luc."

Luc was quiet. "She never was," he said softly. "She came to me when she was sixteen and she looked as if she had been around to see the beginnings of this earth and would live until its end." He poked a piece of crackling ham sadly.

"I remember that," started Carlos. "I was eight when she came." He stopped. "But that wasn't the first time I'd seen her, Viejo." He spoke in a low voice, as if Carlos hadn't wanted to say anything at all.

"Where was she?" asked Luc in a monotone.

"En la calle, Viejo."

Luc sighed, suddenly feeling very old.

"I had a feeling. She wouldn't tell me; still won't. Don't know why. Babies don't just come from nowhere. What was that?" He'd heard the door open and something step inside, breathing rather hard. He leaned over the counter to shout up the stairwell. "'Ello? Bonjour?" 

*~*~*

Caro ignored Luc and closed the door behind her. When the latch clicked shut, she pressed her clenched fists up against the wall and pushed with all her might, hoping maybe to move it somehow, mouth open in a silent, angry scream. She'd almost lost it back there, godammit!

Caro pounded the wall with her fist, slightly satisfied with the loud thump and dull, throbbing pain in her hand. She hit the wall again, and her hand pulsed with a wonderfully painful ache.

"Hello?"

Caro willed herself to relax; her fae-like features slackened, her brow smoothing, mouth drawn up in her usual easy smile, and her eyes twinkling with false, yet plausible, happiness.

"Salut, Luc!" she chirped brightly. She ducked down into the main barroom and helped herself to toasted ham-and-cheese spread atop a croissant. Munching her brunch almost mechanically, staring straight ahead, she tried to quell the boiling hot feeling rising in her chest.

"Well hello to you, too!" greeted Carlos dryly. Caro stopped chewing and glared at Carlos, mouth full.

"Eghwo Carwof. 'Ow ahh 'oo?" Her tone was annoyed.

"Fine," said Carlos grimly, wiping specks of food from his face. 

"Unhgee?" A bit of half-eaten croissant was thrust under Carlos' nose.

"Thanks, but no," sniffed the Spaniard disdainfully. Caro's short reply was muffled slightly by the food in her mouth.

"Fought 'fo," she nodded.

*~*~*

"He's not coming."

"Yes he is, jus' be patient. You can't come anyway, why do you care?"

"I can't come?"

"Is dere an echo in 'ere? No, ya can't come, for reasons that I shall keep close to th' vest."

"Meaning that you just don't want me to come."

"You're a lot smarter then y'look, Carlos."

"Why can't I come?" His tone was whiny, reminding Caro that Carlos was only seventeen, and still young and obnoxious, and that she would have to refrain from pushing the toad over the side of the roof. 

"We're going ta visit Dite*."

Caro hadn't changed her outfit; the skirt was nice and comfortable in the muggy Louisianan weather, and air tickled her soft, bare, brown legs most delightfully to no end. Her dainty slippers had been set to the side and her naked toes wiggled happily in the dusky sunset, free of their satin prison. Caro's shirt still clung to her shoulders, and the loose cotton at the bottom flowed about her midriff, and if Caro squinted her eyes and concentrated, the soft brushes of cloth were rather like fingertips teasing her flushing skin. Carlos sniffed and made the sign of the cross.

"That old witch? Voodleoo and all that heretic nonsense?" He rolled his eyes Heavenward as if sharing with God an exasperated look.

"She's not much older than I, Carlos, you God-loving choir boy, you. And it's Vodoun."

Now his tone was satisfied. "So you admit she's a witch, then?"

"No, she's more'n dat. She's so many diff'rent t'ings, dat girl." Caro's eyes softened as some long-forgotten memory sprung into her head, warm and lazy, blocking Her out for the time being. "She can see right through your skull; can look into yo' eyes and read yo' soul. Her hands are healin' ones: soft and strong, and her eyes speak volumes. When one is with Dite, words are not needed."

Silence followed this little soliloquy, and Caro reveled in it, head thrown back in barely concealed contentment, the ends of her curled hair skipping over her shoulders and the back of her arched neck, her snub freckled nose twitching with the aroma of a thousand New Orleans suppers cooking, silky eyelids held together, her sable lashes nearly brushing the smiling curve of her cheek as her lips parted, ends turned up towards the diamond stars.

 "Bonjour, monsieur capitaine." Her eyes didn't even open; she just knew he was there…how long had she known? Had she guessed? Ah, well…on with business.

"Well, I'm here."

Her reply was obviously tinged with poorly hidden mirth. "What do you expect me to do, stand up and clap?"

Jack considered this. "That would be rather nice, thanks."

Caro laughed aloud at this and stood up, stretching. She cracked a kink in her neck and ruffled a disgruntled Carlos' hair. "Stop looking so sullen; your face will stick like that." 

And if it were possible, the lad scowled even more deeply than before, rather reminding Jack of a certain trip aboard a certain commandeered ship with a certain stick-up-his-arse blacksmith….

"Are you ready?"

Jack scratched his chin. "Whenever you are, love."

"Good, then. Follow me." And with this she climbed over the side of the roof and down the walls, again, using the bricks and balconies as handholds. Jack wasn't prepared for this sudden surge of energetic movement, and he startled and climbed down after her, catching a glimpse of her heels dancing around a corner as his own feet touched the dirt street. He didn't waste any time with pleasantries, and so he followed the girl, losing her twice, to a stable towards the outskirts of town.

As he ran up, rather winded, he watched silently as she led two horses from their stalls and to where he had stopped.

"You can have Dreux. I'll take Iris."

Sparrow legged up over the horse's back. "These yours?"

"No."

All right then. That worked, too.

He waited for a seemingly tireless Caro to climb atop her own horse, and observed as she lent down and whispered into its flickering ear. Jack could have sworn the horse nodded, but they were off again, Caro riding at a full-blown gallop, her skirt billowing out behind her.

"Where are we going?" shouted a suspicious Captain Jack as the wind whistled past his ears. He dug his knees into the horse and attempted to imitate Caro, who moved with her own steed as if they were one. "Well?" he called again. He waited. No reply. "Where are we going?" he persisted.

"Be patient, capitaine, and close yo' mouth! Ya might catch a bug and have yo' dinner early!"

Jack, for lack of something witty to say or better to do, shut his mouth and kept it shut for the remainder of their horse-traveled journey, using the softly singing silence to think his own thoughts.

*~*~*

Jack found his eyes widening a bit in surprise. His hand caught his hat, which had begun to slip from his head.

"We're here."

Jack had heard, but he didn't acknowledge her statement.

He attempted to slide off the back of the horse, but Dreux plopped stubbornly down onto his behind, causing Jack to topple off backwards and onto solid ground, hitting the earth with a dull painful thump. Jack jumped up almost immediately, and sagged down a bit as vertigo swept through him, and he watched Caro's face loom towards him, watched it double, waver, and then merge into one once more.  Jack sniffed as if nothing had happened, adjusted his hat and brushed himself off, and looked up to see Caro's amused face.

"What?"

"I suppose I didn't see that?"

"See what?" he asked vaguely.

"Why?"

Jack tossed his head, sending his hair out of his face with a jingle of beads.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, love." He turned around to face her.

"Savvy?"

*~*~*

The house (if one could call it that) that they stood in front of was situated right over the swamp; a long, wooden bridge waded out to the home, which, also made of wood, stood upon stilts that kept the sagging building from falling to the watery world below.

Caro dismounted and motioned for Jack to follow, treading across the bleached boards as softly as bare feet over grass, and he realized that she wasn't being cautious or quiet; she just moved quietly. Handy, that; and Sparrow followed her lead and rolled his feet, and had after much success, having been quite sneaky more than once.

The pirate took in his surroundings with vague interest. He was in a swampish bog sort of place, where trees grew broad and tall, sprouting from the water, and thick moss hung like spider webs from the branches, sometimes waving with the wind or drooping into the calm pools below, creating idle ripples that reached with wet fingers to shore. Birdcalls echoed through the thickets while Jack dodged a few offending fireflies; ducking, cursing, and swiping at them, he growled in annoyance. The swarm merely moved aside as soon as his hands drew near, so that he swatted only empty air, and Jack proceeded to make a few mad grabs for something other than nothing. Finally, following a few close calls and a near fatal accident involving an insect up his nose and having a permanent, built-in nightlight, Jack sighed mournfully, dropped his hands and tried to ignore the flashing, buzzing insects zooming about his head. Why bother? It was a lost cause.

As they came up to the front door, the veranda seemed to jump out in front of the captain; he curiously poked at a few of the chimes and charms hung from the veranda's roof, and they tinkled and sang as they brushed against one another.

Caro had turned to look at him; her eyes had moved from the trappings weaved and tied and braided into his brown mane to the jangling décor of the house.

"Don' tell me: you an' de house made arrangements to match."

Jack raised an eyebrow.

The door opened.

"You're late."

Caro looked solemnly at the ebony woman in the doorway, and spoke gravely. "T'ieves are never late, Dite. And nor are dey early. Dey arrive precisely when dey mean to."

The captain nearly laughed, but the woman glared at Caro, and Caro glared right back, and Jack sensed that perhaps this really wasn't a good time and swallowed his snigger. But before he could slip away to escape the uneasy crackle in the air; before anything seriously serious happened, both women began to chuckle, and then to giggle, and finally, to laugh. 

Jack was confused. Again.

"Did I miss something, ladies?"

He was promptly ignored, and the two began jabbering in French. Jack rolled his eyes.

Women. No matter the age, no matter the race, no matter the language, women always nattered incessantly on about nothing. The absurdity of it—wait. They were looking at him. They were giggling. And pointing.

A candle sizzled to life in Jack's head.

They were talking. About him. They were giggling, for Christ's bloody sake, about _him_. 

Jack grumped.

Why oh why had he never learned French? 

He was being giggled about. Oh lord. Good thing he had decided to come alone tonight, or he'd never have lived this down. Ever. Jack looked over and saw that there was a pause in the conversation that he had rudely been excluded from.

"Are you two quite finished?"

Caro, by way of answering, produced the doeskin bag from out of thin air.

Jack stared at it, hard, for a second, but then regained what little composure he had lost.

"Where did you get that?" The words seemed to crawl out of his mouth.

"Oh." The answer was vague, and Caro flipped her hair, doing so with a bit more enthusiasm than probably was necessary, and Jack knew he had it coming.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, love," she said, imitating Jack's deep, musical, wonderful slur. 

He held his breath.

"Savvy?"

Jack just looked at her. He realized he was rather gaping, after a moment, and he cleared his throat and collected himself.

"Ha ha, very funny," he scoffed, ignoring Caro's smirk and Ebony Woman's puzzled frown. He coughed and adjusted his hat, forgetting he had done so already. "Yes, very funny indeed are we going to do this, or aren't we?" he asked finally, his temper getting the better of him. Actually he was rather impressed, but there was no hurry to tell Caro that was there?

Ebony Woman's face went solemn, and Caro went serious.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," said she, "this"—indicating Ebony Woman—"is Aphrodite."

"Aphrodite?"

Caro glared.

"Aphrodite it is, then! Pleasure to meet you, madam; Captain Jack Sparrow at your 'umble service."

Aphrodite was a tall, elegant, slender woman, at least a head taller than Jack himself; she had full, dusky lips and shining chocolate skin, and both contrasted nicely with her amber eyes, which were almost a wonder to look at for one so dark. She wore a patterned robe such as the ones her African peoples wore, and she had twisted her hair up with a length of the same golden fabric. She was obviously a proud woman; her chin she held up high, and her eyes challenged your own gaze when you looked into them, no matter if you wanted to argue with her or not. Her high forehead and cheekbones framed her face, and there was no argument whatsoever that perhaps this was one of the most beautiful creatures Jack had ever seen.

Beautiful, Jack realized with a slight sag of his shoulders, and quite unavailable.

Ah, well. He'd get lucky some other night.

They were now all standing in what seemed to be the kitchen of Aphrodite's house, and it was quite a kitchen to behold.

Like the porch, many things dangled from the ceiling along with herbs and flowers. Jars of unnamed items lined the shelves, and there were a few multi-colored rugs upon the floor. On top of the rugs was a table, and strewn across it was a red tablecloth, similarly patterned to Aphrodite's garments, and upon that were a few white-tallow candles, their wicks ashy and black; a mortar and pestle with a ground substance in the mortar that could quite possibly have been bone (Jack could make out a tiny fang in all the whitish dust); a fox skull; and a clay pot of tea set in the middle of three cups and their saucers, steam twirling from the spout.

Aphrodite gestured for them to sit down, and she poured them steaming hot tea from the pot. As Jack brought it to his lips, he sniffed it. A myriad of spices drifted up in the curling steam, and Jack took a sip, not caring that the liquid burned his lips and tongue. Caro sipped languidly next to him, her body slack and eyes alert, as always.

There were a few minutes of silence as they all drank their brews, and Jack relaxed as the tea seeped through his veins.

"What have you to show me?" said Aphrodite, after a time, in her deep, rich voice. "Nobody visits without a reason."

"I always have a reason," protested Caro, "and it's always to see you chére."

"I stand corrected," smiled the woman. "But you have come this night with a purpose. What is it?"

Caro tipped the bag of bones out onto the table, and Jack, even though he had seen them before, thought they looked eerily familiar. He squinted at the bones, hard. And then he realized…

They had fallen in the exact same way as the night before…. down to every last piece, and nothing, not even direction, had been overlooked.  Jack narrowed his eyes, not sure if he believed all this...But then again, it's not like he hadn't dealt with the undead, as it were...

"Ah."

"What d'ya see, Dite? Was I correct in assuming dat—"

"Yes, girl, now quiet."

Caro glanced over at Jack and flashed a quick smile at him. He smiled back, though it was really more like just a quick thinning of lips...

"A wooden lady; a bird in flight, dancing out of grasping hands…When your heart feels right, boy, do not fly, for you will fall. Trust your instincts. A watery mistress; her hold on you is tight, it seems. An ox…you are a stubborn one, no? Do not let truth fog your eyes, child." She bent her head to further examine the white fragments. "And lastly, I will tell you this. 'Courage is not bought, but earned. Look to the white pillars where scroll and sword walked hand in hand. The lion's share of rewards will be found where Night walks within Day.'

"The Spring of Life Eternal is found."

**(AN)** Heh…That was a LONG ass chapter…Are you all still alive? I certainly hope this chapter is a bit better now...I really don't want it to be a Mary-Sue...right now it's my BABY!!!  ::bawls::

And if Jack seems OOC, tell me, PLEASE, and I'll do the best I can to fix that...

* pronounced Die-tee


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